On Threads of Fate
by Osyra
Summary: A tale of childhood friends reunited by fate to combat the evil forces of the Blight. Pulled into the Grey Wardens' ranks by unforeseen circumstances, the two unite to lead a broken Order and forge alliances with unlikely supporters. One conceived by nobility and cursed by the supernatural, the other born to aristocracy but forced into exile. F!Cousland/Leliana M!Amell/Morrigan
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"Auurgh! Maker's bloody balls!"

The branch he'd used to steady himself after the jump snapped as he tried to regain his footing. That was _much _too close.

This girl was insane. Not one hour ago they were preoccupying themselves with _safe _and harmless activities like watching birds and tracking small woodland creatures. But of course Elissa had to suggest they do something she thought would be more fun; such as _climbing_ _bloody twenty-foot-tall_ _trees._

"Heh…" the young girl smirked as she successfully landed on the nearest branch. "What, you surprised you made it to the first branch there, kiddy?"

"Hnf… no," he huffed, "I'm just surprised that I was talked into this at all," because of course she also had to suggest jumping_ through _the trees as well. Hopping around like blasted squirrels. "So what does that make me? A fool, right?"

"Maybe… but you haven't fallen to your death yet. You could still redeem your honor and prove yourself wrong." She jumped to the next branch.

He took a deep breath before jumping after her. "Well you could at _least_ not act as if you do this type of thing all the t-time-!"

"Gotcha!" She'd thankfully caught the boy before he could fall and die and get them both into trouble. "Geeze, Cyrus I know you're clumsy but could you at least _pretend _to have both a left and a right foot when you're jumping so high up through the air?"

"Shuttup! I didn't want to do this in the first place, dammit!" She had the nerve to mock him for going through with _her _idea? What did he follow her around for, anyways?

"Oh-ho, look at you using all that grown-up language." she couldn't help but smirk at his flushed face, the idiot was truly panicking. It was amusing to see this usually laid-back kid shaking in his little leather boots. "I should tell your parents so they can see what a delinquent their little big-eared boy is turning into."

"Like I care right now," he countered. "It's your fault anyways. You're a bad influence, and if you don't help me down now, I'm gonna to kick you off," Cyrus threatened. Heights were seriously his only major fear besides maybe dying; which would definitely happen if his feet weren't on the grown soon.

"And how would you do that if you can't even lift your foot off the branch now, sonny?" Elissa enjoyed taunting him. With her being two years older, it was like she had a younger sibling to torture whenever she wanted.

"Oh I'll show you how! Just you watch when my foot goes up your—BAHHH!" It seemed Cyrus was able to lift his foot a full four inches off the branch before he'd slipped and was now hugging it with his arms, holding on for dear life. He _really_ shouldn't have listened to his crazy friend. He'd make sure to remember that for next time if the Maker could just grant him a safe return home for today.

"Hmmm, your foot was to go where now? I only see them thrashing in the air with your legs down there. You want me to hang from the branch like that too so your foot can hit its target? Any way I can help. Just let me know." Elissa grinned.

"Ohhhhhh no. No no no, Blessed _Andraste_ please no. Just, _please_ Maker let me live! I promise, I'll become a layman or a monk – a Templar, anything! I won't do anything else like this ever again, I promise!"

"Oh so _now _you believe in the Maker, eh? If this is what it took to convert you, I'd have done this with you much sooner. Okay Brother Amell, let us pray now, and preserve your soul before you fall to your death so that you may be saved." She made a crossing motion over her chest and bowed her head slightly. "If you please, repeat after me: 'Blessed Andraste, Holy Bride of our Maker-'"

"ELISSA!" he sharply interrupted, "If you want to save me so bad, then please get me out of this blighted tree! I _swear _I'll haunt you for the rest of your life if you don't get me off this damned branch!" _Maker_, he hated her so much right now.

"Oh, very well. But only since you asked so eloquently. But seriously, I think your parents have a right to know that their little boy genius uses such nasty language. You're too smart for your own good." She frowned and waged her finger at him in a mock-disapproving manner.

"Well that wouldn't matter, IF I DIED BEFORE I COULD EVER SPEAK TO THEM AGAIN!"

"Oh come off it. You should know by now that as long as you've got me with you, you'll be fine." She began to lower herself to the branch below. "Without me, I doubt you'd have been able to climb the tree in the first place…"

"Which means I wouldn't be stuck _up _here in the first place, either!" He craned his neck to try and look below himself. "What're you even doing?"

"Saving your arse, what's it look like?" She hugged the tree with one arm as she got her footing on the branch beneath her. "Now let go so I can catch you." She held her other arm out.

"Are you _crazy?_" Then he thought for a second. Well of course she was crazy; _completely_ mad… ok he really shouldn't have asked that, but still. "I'm not gonna just _let go _of the branch. Do you think I'm stupid?"

Elissa rolled her eyes at that. "If you're not letting go of the tree, then how do you expect to get down from it at all? Now come on Cyrus, don't you trust me? I'm like, almost your big sister." She reached up for him.

"Uh-huh. More like an evil step-sister who secretly wants to kill me. There's no way I'm completely letting go – just help me climb down or something."

She shook her head in amusement and looked back up to him. "Isn't that what I'm already doing? Alright then. If you won't come down on your own, I guess I need to go find someone that'll help me drag you home. Or maybe I could just do that myself…" she frowned. "You know what? Not taking any chances. I'll be right back then - with some servants or something." She grinned cheerily over her shoulder at him and began making her way down.

Cyrus' eyes billowed out of their sockets. "E-Eliss- hey! I can't wait up here that long! My arms are already getting tire- HEY! Come on!" He was seriously about to be left up here? He reviewed his options: either wait for her to bring some guards back, which would be a long time for him to hang onto this branch – or trust her to get him down safely. He was an extremely impatient person to begin with, and on top of that he really didn't think his arms could hold his weight long enough for Elissa to make it back to him. He most likely would have already fallen by then. Seems he had to trust her on this. He really didn't want his parents to find out that he'd been out here in the first place, especially since both their parents had forbidden them from wandering so far without an escort.

"Wait," he called after her, "I just wanna get off this branch without getting into trouble or… or dying." He sighed, "What do you want me to do?"

"Awwwww," Elissa turned and cooed, "you twust me then, widdle cub?"

"Yes! I do, now stop making fun of me and get me down!" This was seriously getting annoying.

"Oh alright, but only since you asked and you trust me so much." She enjoyed taunting the kid, but she really didn't want to see him hurt. They were best friends after all. "Alright then," she instructed, "I'm on a branch directly below the one you're clinging to. Try to let go a bit until you're mostly hanging with your hands. I'll grab and hold on to your legs."

"Fine," Cyrus sighed. "But I'd better live through this to see my 11th birthday."

"You will," Elissa assured him, "and I'll be there for the party next month, too." She positioned herself so that she was secure in her footing. "Now," she coached, "let go."

Cyrus took a deep breath and began lowering himself from the branch. He could trust her in this. It's not like she'd ever let him down before.


	2. Chapter 1

Cyrus felt unusually lighthearted as he led Elissa to a stream near his family's Estate in Ferelden. Despite the reasons he had moved here with his parents for the time being, he enjoyed the countryside very much. Its atmosphere was calmer than that of the city of Kirkwall, his birthplace. Everything just looked, smelled and _felt _fresher here. It would all do well to help his mother get through this particular bout of sorrow. He had come with them here twice before, once when he was eight and the earliest when he was five. That was when he'd met Elissa. They'd somehow become immediate friends, and she made the long journey it took to get here worth it. To him it was probably even worth the political troubles that caused his family to seek relief here. After all, if the issues hadn't happened he would never have met his best friend. He supposed he shouldn't have thought this way but he honestly didn't care. The reasons behind their problem were absurd to him anyway.

Their family was highly respected in Kirkwall, probably the most respected family in the city… or at least they _had _been until his mother, Revka Amell had given birth to a mage child. That alone had sullied their family's bloodline, making it impossible for his great uncle, Lord Aristide to hold a position of power as the city's Viscount. From then on it was as if magic had forced itself into a permanent position in their family, and it affected all of them in some way. Even one of their cousins had run off to be with some fugitive apostate man. And it had only gotten worse after that. Every child Revka bore afterwards had been found to possess magic, lowering their lineage even further.

This caused his mother great shame, as she blamed herself for the deterioration of their family's esteem. Cyrus thought that this was utterly ridiculous. Though he had never met a mage, and his siblings had been sent off to different circles before he was born, he couldn't grasp the reason mages were hated so much. He understood that they could do things "normal" people couldn't, like call fire or heal injuries with a motion of their hands, but he didn't understand why they had to be sent away for being born with their special abilities.

If it weren't for the Templars and their bloody Chant of Light, he'd _love_ to have such magnificent power. The things he could do – he'd never have fear anything if he had such talents. He realized early on that he was incredibly smart for his age; mastering his abilities would be easy. Seems it didn't matter though – each of his older siblings had discovered their abilities at age six. With his coming birthday he guessed he'd widely missed the age mark for magical development; or at least that's what he reasoned in his mind.

He knew both his parents would be upset had they known that their only remaining child entertained thoughts of actually _wanting _to have magic after all it had done to their family name. In fact, it would probably _destroy _his mother to have her youngest taken from her because of it. Cyrus knew his parents loved him very much and that they invested their entire future in him. It would shame them greatly if he had turned out to be a mage, so maybe it had all worked out for the best.

These were the types of things he thought of often. Though his parents always suspected that he knew more of such matters than he let on, they never expected him to understand much of it. But he did. And though he knew more about the world around him than he probably should have, he couldn't help but view most things in a mostly detached manner. This sometimes made him seem impassive and uncaring, which had worried his parents and mentors, who feared he'd grow to be more and more anti-social. But that had changed for the better once he met Elissa. Minus their shared astuteness, they were utterly opposite of each other. He was usually calm and could be annoyed quickly; she was restless and slow to anger. He tended to not to care about others' opinions or how they felt; she couldn't stand to see others hurt. It's as if their personalities completely canceled each other out, but perhaps it was in a good way.

Though she loved to annoy and tease him like an elder sibling would, Cyrus truly enjoyed Elissa's company. He didn't really have any other friends, and he had never met any of his elder siblings face to face since they were trapped in the Circle. Things always seemed insufferably boorish and uninteresting when she wasn't around. Since apparently she could never sit stillfor five minutes without getting bored herself, she was always able to find something for them to do, and he was usually content to go along with whatever she decided.

This is what she was currently up to now. They had previously been pestering the servants in the kitchen, asking what spice goes where and which knife cuts what until they had been promptly tossed out. She had then suggested they find something to do while they waited for lunch.

"So do you know how long you have until you have to go back to the Free Marches?" Elissa asked. The Amells had been in Ferelden for three months now and while she didn't know the specifics, she understood that her friend's mother wasn't feeling well, and had probably come to the countryside for fresher air and recovery. Once she was feeling better they'd probably leave, and Elissa will have lost her playmate. Although she greatly enjoyed spending time with her older brother Fergus, she had always wanted a younger sibling of her own. And even though Cyrus _technically _wasn't really too much younger than herself, and was mentally advanced for his age, he was still shorter than her, so she figured this still made her somehow superior in rank.

"I don't really know," he answered as they made their way to the edge of the stream. "I haven't overheard my parents discussing it but my mother's been feeling better so… we might leave right after my birthday. They knew I'd want to have someone to celebrate with before we leave."

"Awww, so you'll be leaving soon then? It'll be so boring here without someone to hang out with."

"Pshh," he scoffed, "can't be nearly as boring as Kirkwall. At least you Couslands have a bunch of open land to govern and different places to travel to. I'm mostly stuck in my house in the city. There's nothing but markets in Hightown where I live. It's too crowded."

"But the crowds make the city so bright and busy! There's always got to be something to do there. You just don't like going out period anyway. Besides," she looked around, "Ferelden is to… _brown_. Everything's bland like dirt and mud. It has to be more colorful in the city."

Cyrus thought for a moment. "Well, I guess it does look a bit more _red _there. But all the buildings and places there look the same to me. I don't understand it. Whenever I'd visit another noble's house with my mother or father it looked almost exactly the same as our house, except it was like the furniture had been moved around or a corner had less boxes in it or something. It's like the city only had one architect and they didn't feel like spending time to make original designs, so they just reused a bunch of buildings. It feels like I've already been everywhere before, and I hardly leave my own estate. It's like… everything is really one huge building, and one part of the building is used for each location with the others closed off. Why would they do that?" Cyrus suddenly paused and frowned. He had no idea why he'd just ranted about Kirkwall's scenery issues in such detail like that. It frightened him. He shook his head in bewilderment.

"Hmm," Elissa reasoned, "Everything probably looks the same to you because you practically have no artistic side."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well if you say it's like that then maybe you're right," she ignored him and continued on, "I'd probably be bored within an hour." She picked up a stone and skipped it across the stream.

"Believe me, you would," he seconded her opinion. He then picked up a stone of his own and attempted to copy her movements. They both watched as his stone immediately plopped into the water without a single skip. This of course prompted Elissa to burst out laughing.

He stared at the water in annoyance. He'd done it exactly the way she did! Or at least, he'd tried to. "Watch," she told him as she reached for another stone. "You gotta focus your eyes on the direction you want the stone to go in. You can't just stare at your hand when you throw something." She swung her arm exactly as she had done before, and this rock skipped across the stream just as perfectly as the last. "See?" she smirked.

"Huh." Cyrus blinked a few times and squinted his eyes, probably putting all that information she just gave him into memory, Elissa figured. He then found another rock and swung his arm quickly. They watched as it skipped perfectly across the spring, plopping into the exact same spot in the water as hers had. He then gazed at the spot it had landed in and nodded his head sharply, satisfied.

"I _swear _you're creepy," Elissa said. "Does it always take you just one lesson to get something perfect?" The way he caught on to things was just uncanny.

"I don't know," he shrugged his shoulders, "I guess. It's not like skipping rocks should be hard, though." He didn't really feel like doing it again either. There wasn't anything else to learn about it and now he was uninterested already. Elissa could tell.

"How 'bout a contest then," she suggested. "We both get two tries. Whoever can skip the farthest wins." She had to keep them occupied, because whenever they had nothing to do he would just find a place to sit and start to ponder on random things in the cosmos, like some sort of Child Philosopher. She couldn't fathom it.

Cyrus tilted his head at her. "Wins? Wins what?"

"A title of course," Elissa said as if it were the most obvious thing. "Whoever wins gets to be forever called 'The Purveyor of Stone: Best Rock-Skipper in All of Thedas'. Pretty sure dwarves everywhere would honor your name." She looked him in the eye, pretending to be serious.

"That's dumb," he countered. "What could a title like 'Rock-Skipper' do to help me in any way except get people to mock me?" No way he'd fall for that. He wasn't some stupid little kid.

"Oh come on, it's something for us to do!" She sneered at him, "Unless of course you're not competent enough to do it-"

"Fine," Cyrus grumped, "If it'll get you to shut up." _No_ one was about to call him _incompetent._ "Have at you then." His little round face was suddenly crinkled up in seriousness as he glared at the water, pebble in hand. It was so cute.

"It's not like we're about to duel," Elissa chuckled. Whenever he was given a task, no matter how simple, he treated it as if it were a divine mission that would lead the world to collapse if he failed it. He was just so serious for someone so small. "It's not like you'll be punished if I beat you."

"Well you won't beat me," he countered, taking up what appeared to be some kind of throwing stance. Elissa shook her head at that and smiled. "Alright then," she said. "You go first."

She watched as he tossed his pebble at the water, making it skip nearly half way through the stream until it plopped. "Not bad," she said as she picked up another rock of her own. She reeled back and tossed her rock, which skipped until it plopped about two feet farther than where he'd thrown his. "Heh. Not good enough though."

"Hmf," he scoffed. "Your arms are just longer. You've got a little advantage, that's all. I'll show you how it's done." He picked up the thickest, heaviest rock he could find, and closed his eyes. Then, with a sudden strength he couldn't understand, he tossed the rock hard enough so that it skipped all the way to the other side of the stream where it hit earth at the edge of the water.

"Whoa," Elissa blinked. "How'd you do that?!" That was easily two dozen feet to the other side. She looked to her friend, who was now staring at the thick stone on the other side of the water. Cyrus grinned.

"I have no idea," he answered truthfully. All he did was try to imagine it flying far through the air; he figured it'd help a bit to envision it in his head; he didn't think it'd actually _happen_, "but that was _awesome_." He looked over to her. "And I win."

"Now way," she protested. "You're scrawny little arms could never do that. You just got lucky when you threw it too hard. The wind carried it." She crossed her arms in mock-stubbornness.

"It's a _rock!_" he argued, "The wind can't carry it like some flakey leaf."

"Ok fine," Elissa said, "just show me how you did it, and I'll crown you as the Rock-Skipping King." She paused for a second, "I might even get the servants to fetch you a little circlet or something." She reached over and frazzled the hair on his head as she said this.

He rolled his eyes. "Sure, whatever. But I don't need a _circlet_. I'm not a bloody princess." Honestly, Cyrus didn't know if he _could _throw like that again, but it couldn't be too difficult; he was skilled at replication after all.

With this in mind, he picked up another stone, one mostly equal in size to the last and held it as tightly as he could in his left hand. Elissa observed intently as he closed his eyes again. He then tried to move his hand back as he had before, but this time, something was wrong.

Elissa watched her friend as his left arm began to shake violently, as if it was going into shock. It was extremely unexpected and she had no idea how to respond. Then Cyrus suddenly knelt to the ground and grasped his arm with his right hand. Seeing that he must be in some sort of pain, she quickly moved to kneel beside him. She didn't know what was happening, but she had to help her friend. "Cyrus," she asked, "what is it? What's wrong?" She placed her hand on his shoulder.

The boy cringed. His arm was on fire. It was as if someone had placed hot coals inside each of his veins. He opened his eyes to look at his left hand and saw that it had been encompassed by dirt – no, not just dirt, but clay and _stone _as well. It was as if the rock in his hand had expanded to encompass his entire arm, and it was now creeping up to his elbow. The pain was such a searing hot, he couldn't even cry out, as if his voice had been paralyzed along with his now-covered arm, and his vision started to blur.

As he began to lose consciousness, all he could perceive was his best friend's voice calling out to him in earnest.

_C…rus? Don'… wrrry, I'll get… guards… stay wi… me…_

Then, there was darkness.

* * *

Heavy eyelids opened in a murky atmosphere. A terrible dizziness was the first feeling as he lifted his head, and then there was a sense of great heaviness. Cyrus sat up and immediately realized that he was not in any familiar place. With a quick look around, he noticed that he was sitting on the ground. This wasn't too surprising, as the last thing he remembered was being outdoors. What confused him, however was the drastic change in venue. He seemed to still be outside, but the landscape was unlike any he'd seen before. There were trees around, but they all seemed dead and serrated. There were other strange, indescribable structures dispersed throughout the area, and like the trees they were irregularly shaped and of varying sizes. He looked to the sky and found that there was no sunlight; it was a mass of opaque clouds and mist that should have shrouded the area in darkness, yet he was still able to see.

Speaking of vision, his was offset by a questionable haziness. He moved his hand in front of his face and saw that it blurred as he brought it back and forth, almost as if it were moving in slow-motion; something that was reminiscent of a fuzzy dream or hallucination.

When he was able to focus enough to try to stand, Cyrus came to the conclusion that he was far from home, if he was not in fact dreaming. But that couldn't be possible. The world around him felt _entirely_ too real, if very foreign and stifled with a strange atmosphere. No, he had to be awake. He had never been able to be so consciously aware of so many sensations in any of his past dreams. He could hear himself breathing, could feel the warm air around him. He was aware of many things; smell, taste, and physicality. In fact, every sensation was _amplified_ in some way that he had never experienced before. He actually felt that he was somehow aware of more than usual, which caused him pause, for he suddenly became aware of a daunting sense of being watched. He glanced around but saw and heard nothing, yet the feeling was so unnervingly strong that he did not wish to remain in the same spot for a second longer.

He arose to explore his surroundings, as well as to look for a possible exit or way back home. The area around him was filled with winding paths and hills of varying shapes and sizes. In the distance he could even see tall mountains, but they were somehow separated by deep chasms, and they were unlike any kind of mountains he had ever seen. He climbed onto a hill to get a better view of his surroundings and took note of how… dead everything looked. There was no grass; just spots of wilted shrubbery here and there. He hadn't yet seen a single tree with any type of greenery on it. There were a number of paths leading in different directions as well as what he assumed were large archways, but they seemed more like open gates offset with deep… purple hues?

He was observing just how many "gates" there were when something caught his eye. He was sure he could see it correctly… but it just wasn't possible. In the far distance he could see a mass of land— a _floating _mass of land that had its own set of trees and hills. It was settled stock-still in mid air; such a thing was preposterous! Upon looking around he realized that there were others- _many _others spread across as far as he could see.

Cyrus then became worried. The very hill that he was currently perched on was most likely a floating mass no different from the others. Each mound of land, no matter the size was separated by a vast space that seemed to go down for an eternity. There was no water in sight, and he saw no bridges to cross over with. What he did see however were tall gates, similar to the ones not far away. Were they the only means of travel between each island? If so, the problem would be knowing which gate led where. He didn't know how long it would take someone to come and find him, and he'd rather not wait as odds were, in a place like this, he might never _be _found at all. Then again, this could all be fake and he could just be dreaming…

His thoughts were then interrupted by another sense of wariness. He felt it again. He was being watched, he was sure of it, and the presence was in no way comforting. He decided that finding the nearest exit would be the best course of action, and began heading toward the nearest gate. As he approached, he noticed that the purple hues illuminating from it were caused by a thick mist that blocked the view of the other side. He attempted to test it first by reaching his hand out, but was caught off-guard by a large pressure, which unceremoniously shoved him through to the other side.

He quickly rose from the ground and turned to see what had struck him, but was only greeted with the sight of the gate he had just come though, which was now no longer filled with fog. He reached out and waved his arm through its opening, to no affect. It seemed he wasn't going back that way.

As he took in his surroundings once more, Cyrus noticed that there were far more hills on this island compared to the one he had just left, making everything seem much barer. There was some kind of path in front of him, closed in by large hills on either side. Seems there was only one way through here. As he began to make his way down the path, he was once again increasingly aware of being monitored. Whatever had pushed him through the gate must have been following him ever since he woke up in this place, and it wasn't leaving him alone any time soon. He thought it best to just keep moving.

Just as he was making it to the end of the path were it opened up into some sort of clearing, he began to hear gentle voices that must have been… laughing. The sounds were louder with every step, and were now accompanied by soft singing. No words were decipherable, but he could make out a soothing tune as he continued toward the sound. He didn't know what he would find when he reached the music's source, but it had to be better than being alone and stalked by an unseen predator.

The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood at attention as he was thinking this, and he slowly turned around to see what presence had caused it. He then reeled back in startled bewilderedness, for he found himself facing a large, glowing misty ball of light. It shifted back and forth as it slowly moved toward him, causing him to unconsciously step backwards. He attempted to shoo it away with rapid arm motions once it had gotten mere inches from his face, but this only seemed to annoy the thing, as it avoided each of his swipes and began to quake with a type of vivid, electrical glow.

Without warning, Cyrus was struck in the chest with a bolt of lightning which came directly from the globe's center. He was thrown onto his backside as the light moved even closer still, and he suddenly didn't want to be anywhere near this creature for even a second longer. Currently stunned, he rose to his feet as quickly as he was able and began shuffling towards the clearing to the best of his ability. The hazy form used his clumsy movements to its advantage however, and took his unguarded back as an opportunity to strike once more, which resulted in the boy falling face-first onto the ground.

Cyrus had never felt such pain and numbness coupled simultaneously like this. He could feel nothing except the agonizing jolts that coursed through his body. He somehow managed to roll onto his back, but save for that his limbs were now unresponsive due to their uncontrollable spasming. He'd never in a hundred years imagined himself- or anyone else for that matter- being killed by a floating puff of light. It was _not _the way he would have envisioned his death. This entire situation was utterly ridiculous.

Well to the _void _with it all. He wasn't about to perish in some unfamiliar land without anyone having the slightest idea where he'd gone and at the mercy of some floating _ethereal lantern_. He'd rather be up in the trees again, being taunted by Elissa…

_Elissa._

He was sure he'd never see the end of her teasing if she saw him bested by a hovering light. There was no way he'd live down being slain in this way. No, he would fight this puffy cloud to the _death_ and emerge victorious, just to show that he was no weakling. He glared up at said cloud in defiance, waiting for the right moment to strike… or run. If it possessed a face, he supposed it would be staring back at him blankly. Its movements were somehow less hostile though, and it had stopped advancing in his direction. They both were still, he and the ball, staring at each other in silence. And just when Cyrus thought his opponent might attack once more, it instead turned away, gliding over in the opposite direction; uninterested.

Cyrus hopped up onto his feet in total disbelief, staring after it. The _hell _it didn't just walk away from—

"Hey!" he yelled after it, "get back here, you glimmering piece of— _Oi_! I'm not finished with you yet!" This thing had the _audacity _to approach him out of nowhere, _assault _him, and then walk away as if nothing had happened at all?

He shuffled after it, extremely annoyed and throwing expletives at it in an attempt to regain its attention. After a moment or so this seemed to actually work, as it slowly came to a halt several paces in front of him. Cyrus smirked at its form, triumphant, or so it seemed until it sent another jolt in his direction; stunning him once more and pushing him backwards a few feet.

As he stood grasping his chest, taking air in and out in large puffs, Cyrus squinted up in the globe's direction through very watery eyes. It stood still for a few seconds, daring him to retaliate. And while catching his breath, he was trying his best to dare it to strike again by taking an unyielding stance. It regarded him for only a moment longer before abruptly turning away and continuing to glide over in the opposite direction once more.

He watched after it, contemplating whether he should follow it another time or stay where he was. It wasn't actively pursuing him as it was in the beginning; in fact it seemed outright annoyed by his presence now and didn't want to be near him, so it was actually no longer a threat. He did _not _enjoy being bested, however, and he'd already been knocked down twice. Cyrus stared after its retreating form. No, He wouldn't stand for this.

He started after the light again, this time determined to give it what-for. He realized that the wiser decision should be to turn around and continue in the direction he had been previously headed, but to the void with wisdom for now. He wasn't even sure if he was still in Thedas anymore to begin with, and so far everything he'd seen made absolutely no sense at all, so the wise choice may not necessarily be best in this situation. This also could be a convoluted dream all the while, so he was possibly in no danger at all. At least that's what he was trying to convince himself of. Either way, he couldn't really think straight at the moment for all he could picture was how amused Elissa's expression would be if she'd seen what had happened. And her witty comments…

_Bested by a… shiny ball of light? Really now, Cyrus? Heh…_

He could imagine those as well.


	3. Chapter 2

To say that Elissa was confused when she awoke in her family's study would be an absolute understatement.

Her vision was blurred, all sounds muffled; but there was no doubt that there were others in the room as well. She could discern that the fuzzy figures were talking amongst themselves— about what though, she had no idea. Elissa moved her head towards what little sounds she could detect, but this proved to be a bad decision as she was suddenly stricken with a sharp pain in her temple. She didn't normally have any type of headaches, and she wondered why she felt so _exhausted_ all of a sudden.

It became apparent after reaching towards the sides of her head that it had been wrapped securely with soft bandaging. Did she get hit with…? Ah. She immediately remembered skipping stones with Cyrus, but she didn't remember either of them getting hurt… Why couldn't she remember? Then an idea suddenly presented itself; they must have gotten bored and started pummeling each other with the stones. That made sense… it had actually happened once or twice before, but had never caused anything more serious than a few bruises.

Huh. She wondered who'd won…

Wait. If she was waking up from an injury to the head, then that meant she'd been knocked out… _by Cyrus_, which also meant that she'd _lost_, which meant…

_That little bastard_.

The young Cousland inadvertently lunged in an attempted to lift her body from its current position on the large comforter, only to be rewarded with a horrible dizziness that immediately sent her crashing directly onto the floor.

"Oh Maker, she's awake!"

* * *

Cyrus steeled his resolve as he gripped the earth he'd lifted from the ground in his hands. He wasn't able to find anything else around for weapons, so this would have to do. He brought his arms backwards as he closed in on his fleeing target and then let loose with a double-barrage of sand and pebbles, both flung from each hand.

To his disappointment, the soil mostly bounced off of his enemy in a misty cloud of dust, causing no visible harm, but serving to irritate the floating globe once more. He stood still as it swiftly rounded on him, seeming ready to strike. This proved to be its plan, as it began to glow brighter with its encompassing volts of electricity. Cyrus was prepared to dodge whatever came at him next- or more likely just fall straight on his face to avoid any more attacks to the chest once the thing moved— but he was no coward, and he would _not _run away.

His attention was then drawn back to the orb and the buzzing sounds it was currently making as it charged what was no doubt about to be its heaviest attack yet, and it was glowing brighter still. Cyrus began to contemplate whether or not he should rethink his decision to remain standing directly in front of the thing as it prepared to kill him, but these thoughts were irrelevant once it unleashed a continuous bolt of lightning directly towards his stomach.

He cried out at the initial shock, which was intense but nothing compared to the pain that shot through his entire body, which was then followed by the frightening realization that he could no longer move. He was paralyzed in his upright position, unable to move or control his limbs as the orb continued to strike him without any notion of ceasing anytime soon… or until he was dead. He figured the latter would come much faster at this rate.

Cyrus inwardly cursed himself. Through his actions, he had only been asking for this and Maker, did he feel like a complete idiot for it now. Honestly, throwing dirt at the thing? _That was incredibly stupid,_ he figured. He decided to concentrate all of his effort into breaking free from the orb's electrical grasp, which would enable him to regain control of his faculties and escape its glowing wrath. He fought against his enemy's hold, willing his body to move and focused primarily on his legs, forcing them to move backwards. This began to work, and he found himself able to lift his left foot from the ground, slowly but surely and with much effort.

His adversary must have caught on to what he was doing, for it started to intensify its attack as Cyrus attempted to break free. He knew he couldn't take much more of this, and began to shove away with all he had, pushing outwards with his arms. He wanted so badly to be able to move, to strike this thing down and trample it; to break free of its grasp and take revenge on it for attacking him. He focused what will he had left to fight against it with all his might, closing his eyes and wishing only for it to disappear along with the pain.

He was then, as a result, completely baffled when his attacker did just that— the pain suddenly receded and was replaced with a dense numbness, and he opened his eyes to see that the floating orb had begun to flicker in and out before vanishing in a tuft of smoke. He was at once relieved at the sight, no longer fearing for his life and happy that he remained mostly unscathed.

He was then immediately, however, scared shitless when he looked down and saw that his fists were glowing.

_"What in the void…!"_ Cyrus wondered aloud as he quickly recovered from the shock. Now _this_ was certainly new. Though he had no idea how it had been done, he knew that whatever was causing his hands to glow must also have been what destroyed the orb. He studied the blood-orange blaze emanating from his palms, and decided that it was best not to question whatever the hell had just happened. Like he told himself before, any rules of logic seemed to mean absolutely nothing in this bizarre place, and he would gladly go along with anything that aided him as this apparent "ability" had. He slowly opened his hands as wide as he could, and was pleased when the glow dissipated. He then balled his fists once more, willing the dark flames to return, which they did after a few moments, to his satisfaction. This was good. He no longer felt completely helpless, and though he didn't know exactly how to make things explode as he had just done with the now-deceased orb, he figured that the knowledge would come back to him if he was ever in need of it again.

With this in mind, Cyrus turned back in the direction of the clearing, noticing that his clothes were smartly singed in places, but knowing he could do nothing about it for now. He drew closer to his current destination with each step, hoping that the numbness he felt would wear off soon.

As Cyrus moved along however, he was unaware that the creature which had followed him since his arrival had also been observing the boy's entire skirmish with that pathetic wisp from its concealed perch. It was now certain it had made the right decision in pursuing this potential vessel that would allow it entry into the physical realm. The small man-child should not have been anywhere near powerful enough to pose a threat to a pitiful organism such as that, as he had obviously never traversed the Fade before and probably had not yet come to the realization of what he was. Such potential, coupled with a complete ignorance of his situation made this young one an exceptional catch indeed…

It rose from its haunches and continued to tail the boy, guiding him ever closer to its own domain.

* * *

Elissa's vision was swimming violently, and her head injury fared no better after that swift drop to the floor. She then felt herself being lifted up, and immediately felt better when she was laid back onto the comforter. She opened her eyes and saw familiar faces gazing back at her concernedly. Her mother and father, her brother Fergus, and then a face that wasn't as familiar; of a tall, older man with rugged, but kind features. His short dark hair was slightly balding, and he stood attentively nearby with one arm behind his back, the other stroking his beard.

"Are you alright, Pup?" her father asked. He was positioned on her left side, leaning over the back of the comforter.

"Aye, you gave us a bit of a scare there, sis." Her brother was grinning, something quite usual whenever either of them had gotten themselves into something. He was crouched by her legs with a comforting hand on her knee.

"Yes darling, are you alright? Do you feel pain anywhere?" Her mother, kneeling closest to her on her right side, laid a soft hand over the side of her face. She usually doted the most over her or her brother whenever they were hurt or sick and, while endearing, Elissa didn't particularly enjoy being smothered, which was something that would most likely be happening in a few seconds.

She nodded slightly in response to her mother's last question, causing her to wince at the pain, and brought her head up to her forehead to specify.

"Do you have something for the pain, Ser Marcus?" her father addressed the man respectfully standing a few steps away.

"Indeed I do, Lord Teyrn," the man replied as he walked over to a small table, set up with various medical instruments that included gauze and a variety of liquid poultices. "I'd also suggest she get some food and water into her system. From what I can tell, the ordeal will have left her debilitated."

"Are you hungry, dear?" her mother asked. "Do you feel up for any food at the moment?"

In answer to this, Elissa's stomach suddenly growled quite lowly, but intensely enough for all in the room to hear, sparing her from having to give any reply and making Ser Marcus chuckle.

Her father laughed boisterously. "I'll take that as a definite yes," he said. "Fergus, go fetch Nan and tell her to bring the most wholesome meal she can craft back to the study with her."

As her brother hurried off, the physician returned from the table with a flask and a cup of water. He held up the flask. "Have her take this with water around every eight hours, and be sure she receives extra nourishment to counteract any lingering fatigue."

"My most sincere thanks ser," her mother stated as she removed them from his hands. "Come Elissa, let's sit you up."

Elissa groaned as she was helped to sit upright with her back to the comforter's arm. Not entirely because of the pain, but because of her sudden uneasiness. She detested consuming medicinals of any kind, especially ones that were sealed in air-tight flasks. She glanced at the vial containing what was most likely an appallingly bitter-tasting liquid, and then looked back to her mother with an expression that would be best interpreted as: _Do Not Want._

The teyrna knew exactly what she was doing however, and would have none of it. "_Elissa Cousland_, you will take this along with your meal or you will receive no food at all. This is not the time for such childishness."

Elissa grunted stubbornly and flung her head backwards to stare at the ceiling in protest. This was of course another bad idea as a persistent pain then shot through her temple once more, causing her to cringe and grasp her head. Her mother sighed exasperatedly. "By the Maker, I don't know why you have to be so stubborn most of the time. Is there not one trait that you did _not _inherit from your father?" She then looked pointedly at her husband.

The teyrn simply shrugged and replied, "Well I suppose she didn't inherit my hideously appalling face. It would have been devastating had she come out resembling me instead of her _beauteous_ mother." He then looked to Elissa, who was currently peering at him through squinted eyelids with an arm over her forehead. "Unfortunately I cannot say the same for your brother… He has sadly taken on my poorer physical qualities while you've stolen away with all of the good ones." Her mother rolled her eyes.

Elissa smiled. "I don't think your face is ugly, papa." She reached up and scratched his beard for emphasis. The teyrn was her father, so that automatically made him the greatest and best-looking man in all of Thedas.

Her father chuckled. "Well I am glad that you think so." He looked over to his wife and grinned. "I'm lucky that your mother thinks so as well, for I have no earthly idea as to what else could have possessed her to desire me for a husband." He winked over at her. The teyrna huffed at this and chose to look at her daughter, refusing to even glance in his direction.

"It certainly wasn't his intellect," she said.

Her father gasped at this and laid a hand over his chest. "Dear woman, you wound me with such brazen cruelty!" He looked to his daughter for help. "Do you see how I am treated, Elissa? Without your precious hugs and kisses, I would not have the supply of love I needed to keep my own retched heart beating each and every day." He wiped a finger over his eye to dismiss a stray tear.

"Oh stop it, you!" her mother interjected. "Goodness, why do I wonder where she gets her behavior from. You're more childish than she is." Elissa laughed aloud at this, but this caused her to unexpectedly break out into a fit of coughs.

"Here darling, drink this." Her mother held out the cup of water for her to drink while her father softly patted her back. When she'd emptied the cup, her mother took it back and said, "We'll get you more of this once your meal gets here. But you _will _take this medicine before you are allowed to eat anything."

Elissa stared pleadingly at her mother, and the teyrna sternly held her gaze until the girl had to look away in defeat. She could tell that she was not about to win this battle, so she might as well give in as long as there was still the promise of food.

Just as she was wallowing in her most recent defeat, her brother returned with a platter and another cup of water. Elissa perked up a bit at its wonderful aroma. The plate was filled with savory-looking bread and meat, with wholesome fruits and vegetables on the side and topped with a few delicious pastries that she knew well. Yes! Oh how she loved sweets—

"Oh no, none of that," her mother said of the sweets, getting Fergus to remove them from the plate and simultaneously crushing each and every one of her fleeting dreams in the process. The teyrna saw her horrified look and told her, "You can have _one _of these sweets only if you drink the _entire _flask of medicine. Besides, unhealthy snack things won't help with your recovery at all."

"Awww but Mother, I'm _injured!_" she tried to protest.

"Alas, dear, that is what the medicine is for. You'll need it if you want to fight the pain." Her mother was unwavering.

"Indeed, Pup," her father said as he waved Fergus over. "You should listen to your mother." He then took a couple of the pastries from her brother and proceeded to stuff them in his mouth. He hummed with delight as he savored their flavor. "Hmm, oh yes indeed, these are _much_ too unhealthy for a young lass in need of recovery," he said with a mouth full of food. "This will do no good at all for your condition…" He peeked one of his eyes open and saw Elissa glaring at him.

"Well now, what's that cross look for?" he asked. "I'm only doing a father's duty."

"By eating my food?"

Her father raised his eyebrows. "Eating your…? Oh no, Pup, no no. This," he indicated to the sweets in his hand, "is _junk _food; unfit to be called nourishment. What kind of father would I be if I were to just let you put this into your system as your body is attempting to heal itself? Why, I would be unfit to raise either of my children at all, isn't that right, Fergus?"

Her brother nodded his head solemnly with closed eyelids. "Oh yes, I agree. 'S bad parenting." He crossed his arms.

"Without a doubt it is." Her father nodded. "Now, as your loving father and guardian, I will gladly take on this burden and risk illness to keep my precious darling safe from any and all forms of stomach ache." He then popped the rest of the sweets into his mouth.

Elissa sighed and shook her head.


	4. Chapter 3

Cyrus' heart skipped a beat as he finally entered the clearing. Not out of fear, but out of complete bewilderedness for what he was seeing. In the very center of the clearing stood a tall woman with her back turned to him. But it wasn't her obviously naked form that surprised him so much as her pale, blue-violet skin… or the fact that she was actually hovering several inches from the ground instead of standing.

He contemplated whether or not he should approach her or remain where he was. He could now tell that the music he had been hearing was coming from her, and now that he was closer it sounded more beautiful than any tune he had ever heard. The song was so enticing that he found himself moving closer toward her, which he supposed may have been for the better; gaping from afar was probably rude…

She turned as he approached, and he saw that in the place of hair, she had adorned what must have been a headdress of some sort that was formed in the shape of… horns? Antlers? She stopped singing once he was directly in front of her and cocked her head to the side, gazing at him interestedly as if he were some kind of newly-discovered animal. The intensity of her gaze was very unsettling, for her yellow eyes and slitted pupils resembled a cat observing its prey. Her expression changed to that of amusement as she leaned forward to address him at his lower height.

"My my, it seems we have a lost vessel wandering about unattended. Tell me child, what is it that has brought you here to my dwelling?"

Cyrus made an effort to avoid staring at her exposed breasts which, now that he noticed, had round, tiny cup piercings held by small, elegant chains that covered where he knew her nubs would be. Or maybe she didn't have them? She obviously wasn't human; she was similar in form but nowhere near as familiar to him as an elf or dwarf would be. He returned his gaze to her face, and in doing so realized that what he had assumed was a headdress was actually authentic and attached; the antlers protruding straight from the top of her forehead. Cyrus chose to focus on the antlers, for he found her eyes too frightening to look directly into.

"Your dwelling?" he asked, "You live in this place?" From what he had seen so far, this world didn't look anywhere near habitable, at least not by anything other than scavenging animals. Then again, he hadn't even seen a single creature besides that glowing orb…

"In fact I do," the woman said, "This realm is my home." She gestured widely with one of her arms. "I have lived here for quite a while; a significant amount of time compared to others of my kind."

Her… kind? There were others that lived here? Maybe he could get help returning home. "What is this place?" he asked, "Is it that far from Ferelden?"

She waited a beat before answering his question, floating backwards a bit and stretching her arms out wide. "This place can be whatever you wish it to be," she said cryptically, "There is no limit to the possibilities, have you the _desire_ to explore them." She smiled as she caught his eye, and the barren clearing around them suddenly shifted, their surroundings being altered into different scenery. Cyrus found himself standing in a grassy meadow, with green undergrowth and flowers stretching as far as he could see. There was a soft breeze coupled with an earthy smell that reminded him of his estate in Ferelden. Everything before him seemed real and tangible. What sort of trickery was this?

The beautiful scene was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, and he found himself back at the clearing, holding the woman's gaze as he had been before the grassy field had been shown to him. He quickly looked away and shook his head slightly before asking, "How did you do that? It's like someone pushed a dream into my head while I was awake."

The woman chuckled lightly in a lilting voice as she returned to the ground. "Oh trust me, you are far from awake, and there are a number of things I can do if I wish. There is infinite opportunity within a realm in which I hold unhindered authority."

"But what do you mean by_ realm_," Cyrus agitatedly asked, "How far away from Thedas are we?" He had already begun to tire of her ambiguous responses, especially since he now realized that she had avoided directly answering every one of his questions. And 'far from awake'? What was that supposed to mean?

"Foolish child," she chided, "One cannot simply compare this realm to that of any physical veracity. The worlds exist on completely different plains, separated not by any time or distance, but with an incommunicable Veil by which they are kept apart. There exists no true concept of time or space here, and what you perceive as time in your world is merely a perceptual illusion brought on by the consequences of your mortality."

Cyrus blinked rapidly.

She glanced back at him and smirked at his furrowed expression. Of course there was no use attempting to explain any of this to a child, but the natural ignorance of mortals was just so amusing! The boy seemed easily frustrated, and that was something she could use to her advantage. Manipulating the young one would not be difficult, and she could soon use him to reach into the physical realm; it had been a while since she had left this place…

"Tell me, child," she began, "What is it that you most desire in this very moment? Is it not a way out of this place? I can grant you that wish, and more." She crossed her arms and waited for his response.

Cyrus looked at his feet. In truth, all he wanted was to go back home as soon as possible. This place was strange and unfamiliar; he could not shake the unsettling impression he had been feeling since his arrival. He wanted out, that was for sure.

But he didn't know if he could trust this woman, whoever -or whatever- she was. Her demeanor didn't mark her as threatening or wishing to harm him in any way, but there was something about her that he didn't feel comfortable with. She looked at him almost as if she literally wanted to eat him; her gaze resembled that of a shifty cat… or a snake, more like. _And her eyes._ He didn't know why, but he was absolutely afraid to look directly into them.

Cyrus shifted his gaze upward slightly and hesitantly asked, "What do you mean by 'more'? How would you get me out of here in the first place?"

"Young one," she replied, "you need not concern yourself with details that are undoubtedly too _complex_ for your limited mind to comprehend." The boy's countenance darkened dangerously at that remark, to the woman's amusement. He obviously did not enjoy being belittled. "Just know that I can grant you passage from this place in exchange for a simple favor; a small request in exchange for my aid."

Cyrus' eyes narrowed in confusion. A favor? What could he possibly do for her? He had nothing with him but the clothes on his back, utterly useless in an area completely unfamiliar to him; that much should have been obvious to this woman. But it couldn't hurt to ask…

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, "I don't have anything to help you with."

She chuckled lightly at his naïve comment. "Oh, but child, you are more useful to me than you realize." Her gaze turned predatory once more, so much that Cyrus almost thought he was about to be devoured on the spot. "You see in truth, our current wants are the same. I have been trapped in this place just as you have, albeit for a much more indiscernible amount of time. Above all else, I desire to leave this place; to be free to exercise my authority in the realm of man."

Cyrus gave her a quizzical look. She wanted to be free to do _what?_ Nothing she had been saying was making any sense to him. Did she not already tell him that she lived in this place? Why would she want to leave her home? Though he could see why this would be a rather unappealing home to live in…

"But if you're the one with the power to get me back home, then why do you need help from me to get out of here yourself?"

The woman placed her hands on her hips and studied him. "As you can no doubt tell by now, Cyrus," she said, "our worlds are very different from each other. Neither of us can travel freely through them unless certain requirements are met."

Cyrus' head snapped up at her words. "How do you know my name?"

Once again, she waited a few seconds before answering. "I know… many things about you, child," she replied as she moved closer to where he was standing. "I know your hopes, your dreams… your wishes," frightening yellow eyes locked with dark brown ones, "…and your fears."

Cyrus had now become even more uneasy than he had been before. He had never told her his name, yet she addressed him by it as if she'd known him for some time. Something wasn't right with this situation at all. And now that she was holding his gaze again, that feeling suddenly multiplied and he was finding it much harder to think. He tried to look away but found that it had become difficult to move. He was stricken with fear momentarily, until his senses were invaded with a peaceful feeling. It was calm, soothing and… sluggish. He was now feeling relaxed and… safe. The hazy sensation was quite calming, and he felt an overwhelming desire to stay in the spot he was standing in.

The woman continued speaking. "You need not concern yourself with how or why I know what I do." She patted the top of his head the way one would an innocent puppy. "You need only accept my proposition, and you will be returned safely to your home as if nothing at all had happened."

Cyrus swayed a bit on his feet, unable to break eye contact. What was she saying? He'd be able to go home? That's really all he wanted… but wait. He had been hesitant in trusting this woman's words up until this point and… why was that? He couldn't bring himself to remember now. Everything seemed better than ever in this very moment, he felt assured for some reason; he had never felt so lighthearted in his life. Maybe he should just go with it…

"Yes, child," he heard the woman say, "just trust me, and you will be back home in no time at all." She held her hand out to him, silently requesting he take it, which was exactly what he was about to do as he began to slowly walk toward her in a daze, until a piercing roar broke him from his reverie.

He turned his head upwards to see where the noise had come from, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what was perched atop one of the steeper hills above them. A large… no, _massive _creature was standing high above on a rock, staring directly at them. It growled low in its throat, looking pointedly at Cyrus, but soon turned its gaze to the woman, who was standing directly in front of him. She _tsked _loudly at its presence in disapproval, crossing her arms as she addressed it, "Come to ruin our fun, have you?"

The creature said nothing, leaping from its spot to stand ten feet away from the both of them. From this position, Cyrus could see it in more detail. It mostly resembled a lion, and though he had never seen one up close before, he could draw from what he had learned in descriptions and drawings in books. From what he had read, he could also deduce that this one was at least three times the size that an average male lion was supposed to be. It turned to the side and began to circle the both of them, and Cyrus' heart sped up as he saw the rest of its body.

Though it appeared to be a lion from the front, he quickly noticed an additional head situated behind it, close to the first and on its back. To his awe, the second head resembled a goat's, smaller in size but almost as large as the lion's. His attention then turned to its hind legs, which had definitely seemed out of place before, but now he understood why. It was as if someone had taken two animals and fused them together; the front head and legs were the form and golden color of a lion, and the hind legs and latter half of its torso were in the shape of a goat; its black coat matching the color of the second head. What he found most disturbing, however, was the giant serpent that was attached to the creature in the place of a tail. It writhed and hissed as it stared directly at Cyrus with eyes more piercing and terrifying than the woman's had ever been. And suddenly, Cyrus felt it again. The heavy, uncomfortable sense of being observed by a predatory presence had returned. This must have been what was following him the entire time he had been here.

It continued to glare at the woman, addressing her in a deep, regal voice. "I have no interest in speaking with you, harlot. Know that I have already laid claim on the vessel standing before you. You will not touch it, and you will leave at once." The serpent bared its fangs at her, the goat remaining silent.

The woman was undeterred, however, and pointed at the creature with her head defiantly held high. "What right do you have to demand anything of me in my own domain?" She then gestured toward Cyrus, "He has stopped here in my province before reaching yours; you have no influence in this place."

The creature let out a terrifying roar once more and snarled at her, its mane shaking angrily, "Do not test me, insolent harpy; I will not explain myself to you. You will leave the man-child be, and you will be gone from here, I will not say it a third time." It stood still and stared her down; which ended with her returning its gaze for several seconds before eventually relenting.

"…As you say," the woman conceded. "I have no desire to confront you directly at this time, do with the boy as you wish." She then turned to Cyrus. "Farewell, young one," she ominously addressed him. "I am… certain our paths will cross again." She then faded away in a misty haze, leaving Cyrus alone with the other creature, which had seated itself in front of him. He dared not move, for fear of being eaten. He realized that he'd rather be in the woman's company instead of this frightening beast. He was far from comfortable in either of their presence of course, but the woman's presence evoked less terror in him all the same.

"I do not aim to harm you, fleshling," the creature said as if reading his thoughts. "That would be a waste of the effort it took to lead you here."

Cyrus didn't think he would be able to speak at all, so he surprised himself when he managed to ask, "What… what do you want then?"

"I want what that epitome of desire wanted from you; passage into the world of man. Your raw potential makes you an optimal choice for a means to that end."

Here it was again. This beast was saying the same thing the woman had been going on about. What was it all supposed to mean? "Why do you need me?" Cyrus asked.

"Put simply," the large beast replied in an almost annoyed tone, "I cannot leave this place on my own authority. A mortal such as yourself is the most ideal method used to cross into the physical realm without traversing the Veil." It then pointed a single paw at him and said, "You do not currently hold the power to leave without meeting certain circumstances as well, and therefore need my assistance to escape this place, less you risk being trapped here indefinitely."

Cyrus blanched at its words. He could be stuck here forever? He didn't even know where he was!

"You are in the Fade, little spawn; a realm that is the origin of my kind. Others like you possess magic and may come and go from here as they please due to their gifts. Because of the possibility of them coming into contact with beings such as myself, they are often persecuted by their fellow man. Those gifted with magic shall never be freed of its curse as long as they shall live… but enough of this; whatever else you do not understand now, I assume you will learn soon enough. Just know that you will need my assistance to leave." The ability that seemed to enable the creature to read his thoughts and answer his unvoiced questions was upsetting to Cyrus. He wondered how it was possible, and then noticed that the goat head, which hadn't made a sound up to this point, was staring at him unblinkingly with eyes that looked directly through him, as if gazing through to his soul. He shuddered at the invasive sensation and returned his attention to the lion. It gazed at him for a good while before addressing him once more. "So what will it be, human? You wish to leave this place, do you not?"

Cyrus thought on what the woman had said when she had asked him the same thing. "I do but… what do you want from me in return?"

"As I have said before," it replied in a frustrated tone, "I want only to leave in the same way that you do. Neither of us can escape this place without the aid of the other; therefore you must cooperate with me to leave."

It stood from its haunches and began to stride closer. "Make your choice, young one. Do you wish to leave now or do you not? I tire of answering your questions."

Cyrus looked up at the beast gazing down at him, standing many feet taller than himself. He had no idea what would really happen if he trusted its words, but what if this was his only chance? He had seen enough of this place to know that he did _not _want to stay here.

He clenched his fists and nodded once to convey his agreement, which was all that the creature needed. It took in a single breath before roaring loudly with a force that caused Cyrus to fall backwards onto the ground.

Everything faded to black, and he was unconscious once more.


	5. Chapter 4

Cyrus awoke to muffled voices coming from the adjacent room. His vision was hazy and unfocused. He opted to stare at the ceiling above him to gain his bearings.

After focusing for a few seconds, he could tell that he was in a room; his room in fact. He recognized the soft cushions and cozy, thick blankets of his bed beneath him, and he could detect the warm light eradiating from the fireplace to his left. It was all quite comfortable, but he couldn't remember how he'd gotten here or when he'd gone to bed. He remembered Elissa pestering the servants in the kitchen. He remembered being shooed out with her because of it, and then they went outside to occupy themselves before lunch…

It deeply frustrated Cyrus that he couldn't get himself to remember the rest. He contemplated getting up to find out what was going on. He was thirsty anyway and could use a cup of water. As he attempted to raise himself up, however, he realized how incredibly weak he felt. His left arm especially was feeling tingly, as if it had been asleep for some time. He tried stretching to alleviate the numbness, and as he did so he noticed for the first time that his arm was bandaged from his hand all the way up to his shoulder.

This confused him. He didn't remember hurting it, and it wasn't currently in pain so he couldn't have broken it. He was about to mess with the wrappings to see if he's been cut or burned when he heard the voices again, coming from the room next to his.

_"… don't know for sure. It could be just a bizarre occurrence. It wasn't as violent as it had been with his siblings." _That was his mother's voice, he was sure of it. She sounded tremendously distressed. What happened?

_"You know that's not the case, Revka. This has happened far too many times for us to try and deny it now." _That was definitely his father's voice. He sounded strained. As if he was too tired to speak on some redundant subject. Cyrus was sure by now that they were talking about him, but just how serious was it? He had not been hurt save for his arm, and though he didn't know just how badly it was hurt, the simple bandage assured it couldn't be anywhere near life-threatening. So what were his parents so stressed about? He contemplated on raising himself from the bed to ask them himself, but soon abandoned the idea when his vision blurred again and instead attempted to focus once more on their hushed whispers.

_"… will have to send him away. There's no avoiding it, Love. You know this."_

Cyrus froze upon hearing his father's words. Did he just hear that right? They would send him away? What had he done? Something wasn't adding up. He's suddenly injured and regains consciousness after Maker only knows how long to learn that he has to leave? Or maybe whatever caused his injury could somehow pose a threat to him. Was this for his safety? Cyrus was trying to run through the possibilities, but he would know nothing until he asked them. If only his legs would _move _for the Divine's sake… they seriously felt like pudding. Oh how he detested pudding…

He was suddenly startled out of his musings with a loud thud that must have come from the other room. Loud thuds such as that meant only one thing if someone hadn't dropped something; his mother was throwing things.

_"I will **not **send my only child away! This wretched **affliction **will not harm anyone else in our family! We were wrong to send the others away. As if it was their own choice to be birthed from this cursed womb…" _His mother was weeping… what was it that was causing her such sorrow? _"We are nobility! We should have used that to our advantage to… do **something**, anything! But we chose to do **nothing**, husband! We did nothing while… while they took each of my young ones away… every single one of them. And all because of my-"_

_"No, Love." _His father's voice was firm as he comforted her. "_I will not have you or anyone else place the blame of our children's circumstance on your shoulders alone to bear. They come from your womb, yes this is true. But I am their father, and I would not want any children of mine to come from any other woman but you. It's not as if you created them on your own. It is just as much, if not more, of my fault that they were born the way that they are. You **will** not blame yourself." _Cyrus could hear what must have been his mother sobbing softly into his father's chest. Something was terribly wrong, and he cursed himself for being able to reason what it most likely was. If only he could _remember _what happened…

After a set of long, agonizing minutes, he realized his mother had stopped sobbing. He wondered if they had already left the room without him noticing. He held his breath in anticipation until he suddenly heard his mother's voice through the wall again.

_"…I know… I know we have no choice, I know it. There is no way we can be sure that he could learn to control it. Not without the proper training only provided by the Circle. We have no one else who could teach him, either."_

Cyrus' blood suddenly ran cold at his mother's mention of that cursed Prison Tower.

_"Yes," _his father sighed. _"If only he could have a personal tutor. One to train him in the art just as with any other subject."_

_"But that isn't to be," _his mother said. _"And now he can never be free." _She began sobbing again. _"None of my children can ever be free…"_

_"Hmmm…" _another resigned breath._ "That, my Love, is sadly true. 'Those "gifted" with magic shall never as long as they live be freed of its curse…'"_

Cyrus' eavesdropping was then interrupted by a rapid flow of memories. All that had happened in the last several hours was violently thrust back into his mind. The rock-skipping contest, the very earth engulfing his entire left arm, losing consciousness, finding himself alone in what that creature had called the "Fade", and then him striking a deal with it in order to be free of that disturbing place, only to awake and find that he was being sent to the Tower.

He was a mage. Just like the rest of his siblings, he knew that now to be true. He would be sent away, just as the Chant of Light decreed. The bloody Chant of Light, that removed each of his older siblings from the only family they'd ever known while they were yet innocent children. The Chant of Light which divinely states that they are hated by the Maker for the _curse_ that they were born with from the womb.

Andraste's _holy _Chant of Light which damns all mages outside of the Circle to exist only as _apostates_; wretched infidels to be hunted down and punished by the Order. That _blighted _Chant of Light that would sentence him to be a prisoner in the Stone Tower for the rest of his life, to never see his parents or Elissa ever again.

Elissa…

He would never see his only friend ever again. Would he even be able to say goodbye? Would that even matter if he was being sent away forever? He doubted anyone would be able to visit him, as he didn't remember ever accompanying his parents to visit any of his siblings, if his parents had ever visited them at all. They would be free to go on with their lives while he, just like the brothers and sisters he had never met, would never be free until they joined the Maker's side.

No. The Maker would by no means suffer their souls to be anywhere near Him. They would be cast into Oblivion for the "curse" that taints them. It will follow them; hanging onto their backs even in death. It was as his own father had said: _"Those gifted with magic shall never as long as they live be freed of its curse." _

He then paused at his thoughts. That very phrase had been used by that creature from the Fade as well. The very same being that must have helped him escape. Cyrus shivered slightly as he remembered how disturbingly unnatural the thing looked. He remembered conversing with it, striking some sort of agreement. He had read that mages could traverse realms outside of their dreams, and that it was also inhabited by countless beings, good or evil. He had also heard that they should not be trusted, though he could recall none of what he had learned while he was there for some reason. Nevertheless, his short journey into the Fade proved that he had magic, if his bandaged arm didn't show it already.

The situation was slightly ironic. He'd have maybe welcomed this type of power at one point in the past, but not at such a cost. There was no way to deny or hide it though, regardless. Cyrus was a mage, and because of that he would never be free.

* * *

"So the two of you were… skipping stones before it happened?" her father asked from his seat across from her, on the other side of the short round table. Her mother and brother were situated around the table as well, in chairs on either side of her. She was still sitting in the comforter, having finished her meal and was finally ready to get to the bottom of what had happened a few hours ago. She had begun to recall much more after she had finished eating.

"Yes," Elissa answered. "We were waiting for lunch to be finished, so we found something to do in the meantime."

"_Please _tell me you weren't pelting each other with the rocks again," her mother said with a hand to her forehead. "I honestly don't understand why children enjoy inflicting pain on one another."

"Hurting others is hardly something only enjoyed by children, love," her father said, leaning back into his seat. "Grown men do it every day in the name of many things; justice, revenge, greed, conquest…"

"But it's fun though," her brother said, shrugging his shoulders.

They all looked at him.

"I-I meant throwing things!" he explained after the long silence, "Not harming others; throwing stones can be a fun, tactical exercise when you have to avoid getting hit by all the rocks."

"Well, I now see who she must have picked up this foolish 'exercise' from then, _Fergus_." Their mother's voice was severe. Fergus squirmed in his seat.

"Wait, mum, that's not entirely true…" Elissa interjected, thinking as fast as she could to prevent her brother from being skewered on the spot. "I actually remember striking Fergus in the head with a stone to get his attention one time when we were smaller. That might explain how it all got started. And why he obviously has brain damage."

Her brother stuck his tongue out at her teasingly but gave her a wink in thanks for saving his hide for the moment. They always covered for each other. And they both knew that whatever happened, one would always be there for the other in any situation. "Partners in crime" their mother and Nan called it.

"Dear Maker," the teyrna's hand returned to her forehead, "why…"

"Disconcerting methods of communication aside," their father chuckled, "please Pup, tell us what happened next."

Elissa's gaze shifted down to her hands as she continued. "After we had both thrown two or three rocks across the water, something strange happened." She paused for a beat before continuing. "When Cyrus was throwing another rock, he froze in his spot. By the time I looked over to him, he was kneeling on the ground beside me."

"What do you mean," her father asked, "had he strained something in his attempt to throw the stone?"

"No, it's not that," Elissa said. "At least I'm pretty sure it wasn't. He was gripping his arm really tightly, almost as if he had been cut or something. I looked at his arm though and didn't see anything wrong with it, but from the look on his face his arm was hurting badly."

"Could you tell what was wrong with it?" asked her mother.

Elissa let out a breath. "His entire left arm was being… covered in stone. It's like the rock in his hand stretched over his skin and crawled up to his shoulder. He passed out not too long after."

"And before this happened," her father said, "he was able to skip the previous rocks perfectly for the very first try after you showed him?"

"Well, yes," Elissa confirmed. "But Cyrus has always caught onto things quickly, so it seemed normal for him. The last rock he threw though… there's no way that should have been possible since he can't be that strong. It was a hefty stone, and it made it all the way to the other side of the stream."

Her parents shared a glance.

"So it's as if he was able to… command the stone in his hand to travel that far?" asked her father. "And this was right before he lost control and it overtook his arm. Maker's mercy… I'd thought that the Amells could finally move on from this trouble." He put a hand to his chin and looked down in thought.

"Goodness, how devastated they must be." Her mother moved a hand up to her mouth. "Surely they've realized it themselves by now. Their only remaining child no less…"

Elissa was confused. "What do you mean? What trouble? Was he really hurt that bad?" She had no idea what they meant. Then again, she'd never seen anything like what had happened to Cyrus, so maybe she just couldn't grasp the extent of the danger? She glanced over at her brother, whose expression had become unusually solemn as he gazed at the floor uncomfortably.

"Pup," her father drew her attention back to him, "I'm afraid that from what you've told us, there is obvious evidence suggesting that your friend possesses magic. Cyrus' family has been known to produce a number of mages here and there, but it became most undeniably known once his elder siblings were born. Every single one of them had turned out to have magic, and it reflected badly on the family name."

"Those born with such abilities are forbidden to hold a title of any kind," her mother explained, "and having so many in their family ultimately caused their influence to decline. Each of Cyrus' elder siblings were given to the Circle at a very young age, making him one of the very few remaining heirs to their lineage."

"But now that's he's a mage, he won't be inheriting anything," Fergus pointed out.

Elissa couldn't believe this. "But that's completely unfair!" she protested, "They have to send him away and never see him again? That's like throwing someone in prison for being born able to walk."

"Indeed, Pup. It's… actually not really quite as similar to that at all but… it's just the way things are. I'm sorry, but there is just no other way to explain it. It is how things have worked in Thedas ever since the Exalted March."

Elissa sat back in her seat with a huff. This was undoubtedly the worst news she had ever heard. Her best friend was to be stripped of his identity and sent away to live with strangers. His family wasn't even from Ferelden either, so he might be sent to one of the Circles in the Free Marches thousands of miles away. And to think that mere hours ago, the two of them were having fun together; something that they could no longer do, ever… just like that.

Elissa hated feeling helpless, and this would be one of many things to come that she would have absolutely no control over.


	6. Chapter 5

TEN YEARS LATER

There was no doubt he was nervous as he stood attentively on the stone floor, awaiting further instructions. He watched in silence as some templars added more lyrium to a basin that was situated on a pedestal a few feet away from him. A younger Templar stood silently in the background, arms crossed, taking in the scene with interest. As he watched the templars go about their work, he was joined by his instructor Irving, a weathered old man who was First Enchanter of the Circle Tower in which he had resided most of his life. The man turned to his student to offer final words of advice.

"There is no need to be anxious, Cyrus," he said, "You have prepared for this since the first day of your training. You are ready. Is there anything else you wanted to ask before the ceremony begins?"

Cyrus thought a moment. There wasn't much more he needed to know about the procedure. He had learned the most that he could about it and was familiar enough with the proceedings. He would probably be given an overview on what was to happen nonetheless. He looked to Irving. "Other than the reason as to why this "tradition" is necessary? I see no sense in the notion that tempting young apprentices with corruption will somehow lesser their chances of being tempted again in the future."

"Young one," Irving said warningly, "you know by now that it would do you no good to question the methods established centuries ago to help ensure stability for the benefit of those within the Circle."

"There is nothing _beneficial _about being backed into a corner and forced to face a demon only to be slaughtered if I refuse or falter," Cyrus said through clenched teeth. "It doesn't change the fact that a possession can happen to _anyone _whether they posses magic or not. This is only another show of authority by the templars, to display the power they wield over our lives."

"This _display_," a voice boomed as the templars were finishing up with the lyrium, "is a test of your will and commitment." They were joined by Knight-Commander Greagoir, the overseeing templar of the Circle of Ferelden. He stopped in front of Cyrus as he continued. "This ceremony has been in effect for the benefit of the Circle and all of those involved with it. Your magic," he pointed to Cyrus, "is a gift. But it is also a curse. It makes you a target of evil forces, and this must be kept in check by the Order for the good of mankind. The ceremony forces you to utilize all you have learned in order to overcome the adversary you will face throughout your life as a mage. Therefore, it is not the templars who decide whether you live or die once this procedure starts. Whether you leave this Harrowing Chamber alive or not depends solely on you, apprentice, and no one else." He crossed his arms and nodded toward the pedestal. "Are you ready to begin?"

Cyrus glanced at the glowing lyrium waiting for him and then looked back to the Knight-Commander. "I suppose it is better than being cut down for refusing," he said in a dry manner. He made his way over to the illuminating substance, and prepared to enter the Fade once more.

* * *

As Cyrus' eyes opened to a new area, he took in the sights and sounds of a place that, while he'd never felt he actually belonged here, had become familiar over the years. As he observed his surroundings, he became aware of another presence, and didn't bother to turn as he addressed it.

"Come to help me, I see. I guess it would be unfortunate for your precious vessel to fall into another's hands."

A low rumbling was heard behind him, and a voice replied, "I am not a fool to remain undetected for over a decade only to have all put at risk due to an unnecessary situation brought on by the irrational reasoning of ignorant mortals." There was a hissing noise that followed. Cyrus stood and turned around to see a… or rather, _three _familiar faces looking back at him. The form of the creature seated in front of him was completely unchanged over the years, and any fascination with its appearance had faded with its constant materialization, and also once he had done research and learned of its written depiction. He remembered scouring the bestiary section of the archives during his first months at the Circle, and how his searching had paid off when he finally found a book with the right description along with a picture and an underlining caption that read "chimera".

The beast had also made a point to make itself known since their first encounter, and Cyrus had actually tried many times to get it to leave him alone when it first began to visit his dreams. The creature, which referred to itself as Osmodai, had told him each time that his efforts were futile. The two of them, he had put it, were now individually distinct personalities that had to share the same body, and that the only way to separate them would be to destroy that body. It told Cyrus that he was now what other humans would refer to as an "abomination" and that he would be killed outright if any of his overseers ever found out.

The despair that the young mage felt upon learning this turned to anger, which eventually led to an acceptance that soon became indifference with the passing of years. He had drawn into himself early on, not because of timidity, but because Osmodai endorsed it as the best course of action due to the constant presence of the templars. Cyrus had always preferred to be by himself in most situations anyway, and had never been fond of other people to begin with, having only one friend during childhood whose company he enjoyed. He spent his time studying or meditating on whatever he learned, and only bothered to interact with others when he thought it necessary. Most of his peers thought him a reclusive introvert with no desire for social interaction. Others assumed he was emotionally unstable, as he was brash and prone to outbursts of anger whenever he was annoyed or frustrated. Though he had never harmed anyone, he had destroyed a fair amount of equipment. Usually not on purpose, but this made the others wary of him nonetheless. He honestly cared nothing for what others thought of him and had no interest in their thoughts or feelings, and while many noticed this, they could also not deny that he was extremely gifted. Cyrus' talents were relevant early on, and he was soon taken under the wing of the First Enchanter when the lessons that others his age were learning proved to be too simple for him.

While he had always learned things quickly, he in truth had a secret advantage over his peers. Whenever it was considered necessary, the chimera would council the young mage, and offered greater insight to whatever he had been learning from his mentors. With its knowledge of techniques that were forbidden or otherwise not widely used, Osmodai would teach Cyrus in the fade, usually while he slept or during meditation, and this led to the mage gaining more experience through different methods of spell casting, while at the same time building his endurance and mana. This he saw as the only real benefit to his predicament, even though it was virtually useless while he was trapped in the Circle.

"I have not invested my time with you for nothing, human," said the beast. "You would be a fool to think that I plan to remain here among these wretches forever."

And there it goes once again, reading his thoughts.

"Your thoughts are no longer yours alone, boy; they have been shared between us for over ten years, if you must be so reminded." Osmodai gazed at his raised paw a moment before continuing. "This redundant thinking amazes me. Do you plan to stay here, contemplating your past, or may we move on?"

Cyrus ignored its comments and began walking in the opposite direction, knowing that it would follow.

He hadn't gotten far when he realized that the area he had been wandering in had no visible outlets or gateways. And the closest islands were floating at least fifty meters away from the edges. He let out a frustrated sigh, and then noticed movement in his peripheral vision. Something was scurrying towards him. He then heard an echoing voice.

"Ahh, someone else thrown to the wolves… as fresh and unprepared as ever."

Looking for the source of the voice but seeing no one, he looked down to his feet at a small creature, which continued to address him in a tone that was unnatural for its size, "It isn't right that the Templars do this. Not to me, nor you, or anyone-"

Cyrus rose his foot and began stamping the ground, trying to crush the thing before it could continue.

"Wait! What are you… what in Andraste's name would possess you to assault someone trying to start a simple conversation?" it said as it hopped to and fro to avoid his stomps. "Cease at once, I mean you no harm!" Cyrus stopped temporarily to stare at the thing with furrowed brows.

"You're a talking rat."

"Well yes, but I…" It looked up at him and wrinkled its nose. "You are in the Fade, mage. This is hardly unusual. In fact, I am not truly a mouse. I take this form to remain unnoticed by larger threats." The mouse suddenly began to glow, and its form quickly shifted into that of a human male. He then extended his arms towards Cyrus and exclaimed, "You see? You're in the same boat I was once. It's all the same."

Cyrus folded his arms and stroked the stubble on his chin. "The same, is it? I'd like to know how."

"Of course," said the young man. "You may call me… well, Mouse. Allow me to welcome you to the Fade."

"Mouse… not you're real name, I take it?" Cyrus was unamused by this spirit's pretentious nature.

"No, most likely not. I don't remember anything from… before. The Templars kill you, you see. Take too long, and they figure you failed your task. They'd rather not risk some entity getting out. That is what happened to me I… I think. I tarried too long, and now I have no body to return to."

"How long have you been confined here?"

"I… do not know. Could be years. Could have been mere moments ago. I can't recall a single thing from whatever past I once had."

"Certainly," Cyrus contemplated. "Yet you are aware that you were a mage from the Circle, and that you've failed you're Harrowing."

"Well of course!" Mouse exclaimed. "What other explanation could there be? I obviously do not belong here, I can feel as much. This place is unnatural, and no mortal can simply enter the Fade without the assistance of magic. I hid when I arrived, so I am trapped here. The same thing could happen to you if you do not make haste."

"That will _not_ happen to me," Cyrus replied gruffly, "I am no sniveling coward. Why have you approached me to tell me these things that I am already aware of?"

"I was once an apprentice, like you," said Mouse. "I have no desire to see another mage fall victim to the Templars and their so-called "test". There is something here." He looked around ominously, "You must find it and confront it as quickly as possible. That is your way out, if you can defeat it."

"Anything can be slayed. I do not fear whatever adversary is nearby. Where is it then? You seem so knowledgeable."

"You would be a fool to simply attack_ everything_ you come across. Your pursuer is powerful. But there are also other spirits nearby. They will be able to tell you more. I can lead you to them. My chance was taken from me long ago. But you may still have a way out."

Cyrus sighed heavily. "A way out indeed. Lead if you wish then, Mouse."

His new acquaintance returned to its smaller form, and led him through to a concealed space and past a circular area that was bordered by flames. "That is where the test will take place. Your adversary is nearby. It can manifest anywhere it wishes however, so be on your guard. Do not approach it until you are certain you're ready."

"I don't see why it cannot simply reveal itself to me now then," Cyrus said as he followed the rodent. "Wouldn't taking me by surprise give it the upper hand? I've never understood such careless logic."

"Well," replied Mouse as he scurried along, "your world and the Fade are not the same. Perhaps the logics you are used to do not apply here. Wait!" he suddenly halted. "There are hostile spirits ahead. They block the path in front of us. Be careful when you engage them."

He couldn't see what the mouse was talking about at first, but then he was caught off guard when an electrical force struck him in the chest. He was stunned for a few seconds, then looked up to the source of the attack, and saw a glimmering light in the distance.

Cyrus' countenance darkened with hatred.

Mouse stood perplexed as the single wisp that was attacking them violently combusted under a vicious torrent of savage infernos. "A-Amazing!" he exclaimed, twitching his whiskers. "You have been trained well for an apprentice but… that much force was a bit overkill, don't you think so? Surely your mana should be conserved for much stronger enemies."

"I have plenty," Cyrus tersely responded as he continued down the path. They encountered more of the things, which Cyrus maliciously obliterated without restraint or hesitation. This apprentice was definitely peculiar, thought Mouse. But he didn't bother to question the mage's apparent deep-rooted loathing for these orbs. The sheer power he possessed was all that mattered…

As they came up to the end of the pathway, a shining figure clad in armor seemed to be waiting for them. "Another spirit up ahead," Mouse warned. "It doesn't seem to wish us harm, but be on your guard."

The figure called out to Cyrus in a regal voice as he approached. "Another mortal thrown into the flames and left to burn, I see. You have arrived under the command of your fellow man, have you not? A cowardly trial for those such as you to endure."

"As if I had any choice in the matter," Cyrus responded. "But I see that you are aware of my purpose here as well."

"I am," replied the spirit. "That they would offer you up as prey to demons is beyond rational reasoning; would be better of them to pit you against each other instead. That would be an honorable test."

"The likes of the Circle are not trained to be combatants. Such a thing would undermine the reason for keeping us subjected."

"I see. Your presence here must also mean that you have not yet defeated your pursuer. Nevertheless, I wish you a glorious battle to come. I am Valor, a warrior spirit. These weapons you see behind me," it gestured towards several racks of various blades, maces and staves, "are the fruits of my ambition to create the perfect expressions of combat."

"And don't we _all_ have ambitions…" Cyrus pondered aloud, stroking his chin. "What would you ask in return for allowing me to use one of your weapons to help in completing my task?"

"Ah, of course," Valor nodded sharply. "You are not the first mortal to request my aid. Assisting you is not why I am here, however. My purpose is to seek perfection for battle. But…" the spirit seemed to contemplate, "were you able to defeat me in a duel, I would allow you use of one of my armaments."

"Are there any other terms to this fight?"

The spirit stood confidently and said, "Only that if you win, I give you a weapon. If you do not convince me of your power, then I will slay you. I wish only to test your mettle; to know if you are worthy to wield one of Valor's blades."

"Yes yes, very well Valor," said Cyrus as he uncrossed his arms, "I accept your duel."

"As you wish, mortal. We begin now. Fight with all that you have!"


	7. Chapter 6

Elissa Cousland, daughter of the rulers of Highever, strolled leisurely through the halls of her family's estate. She had been looking for her trusted pet and companion, Mog. That rusty mabari war dog had wandered off again, and a gigantic mess was usually the result of leaving him alone for too long. She'd been alerted of a request from her father to meet him at once in the main hall, however, so her search for the lost Mog would have to be postponed for the time being.

As she approached the hall's great double doors, she could feel the onset of another headache, a now common occurrence that she hoped would go away once this meeting with her father was over. She could hear her father addressing someone as she entered the room.

"I trust then that your troops will be here shortly?" the Teyrn said, facing the main hall's grand fireplace.

"Yes, I actually expect that they should arrive here tonight… Then we should be able to march together by tomorrow." Rendon Howe, the Arl of Amaranthine was also present. It appeared they were coordinating in response to this eminent Darkspawn threat. "My deepest apologies for the delay, Milord."

"The Darkspawn appearance has us all scrambling in this time of urgency, Arl. Think nothing of it." Her father took on a reassuring tone, "I am sending my eldest ahead with my men to the king's encampment. Then we can ride alongside each other when your troops arrive, just like the old days, eh?"

"Old days indeed," replied Howe. "Though we merely fought Orlesians in those days and not… well, monsters."

"Of course," the Teyrn chuckled, "But I'm sure the difference will hardly be noticeable. Oh here you are, Pup!" He turned to his daughter and introduced her to the Arl. "Howe, you remember my daughter."

"Yes, I see she's become a lovely young woman. Pleased to see you again, my dear." He bowed slightly in greeting.

"And you, Arl Howe." Elissa nodded her head in respect.

"You know, my son Thomas asked after you recently. Perhaps I should bring him with me next time."

Elissa barely resisted rolling her eyes before responding bluntly, "To what end?" She had no interest in being involved with anyone of this man's lineage.

"Hah!" Howe exclaimed. "'To what end' she says. Such wit. She's just like her mother when she talks like that."

"You see what I contend with, Arl?" her father said cheerfully, "There's no telling my girl _anything_ these days, I tell you. My influence I'm sure." The Teyrn looked at his daughter proudly.

"Hmm, no doubt as you've trained her to be a warrior." Howe turned his gaze back to her. "How… unique." Elissa could see the obvious distaste the Arl had for the way she carried herself. She was bold and confident, not the reserved and vulnerable princess that many would believe to be more acceptable for her role.

"At any rate Pup, I have summoned you for a reason. While your brother and I are gone with the troops, I am leaving you in charge of the estate."

"What?" Elissa was surprised. "Why can't I go to fight with you and Fergus?" She could more than hold her own in a battle. Her father had made sure that she was trained alongside her brother since childhood.

"Now Pup," said the Teyrn, "I'm not doing this out of spite. Your mother can't be left here alone now, can she? What if we were to all perish? It would destroy her. You are my youngest, and I can't just send both of my heirs out to war and have no one to carry on the family's legacy if the worst happens. That would be foolish." Elissa let out a frustrated sigh.

The Teyrn stepped closer and placed both of his hands on her shoulders. "I leave only a few of my forces here; I am trusting you to keep the peace in the region. Do this for your old man, Pup, please." She looked into her father's pleading eyes. Dammit! She'd inherited that persuasive stare from him, too…

"I will do my best, papa."

"That's what I like to hear!" he bellowed as he brought her into his arms and hugged her tightly. "Now," he turned and motioned to the guards at the far door on the hall's right side. "There is someone I'd like you to meet." The door opened to reveal a tall, dark-haired older man, who spoke to them as he approached.

"It is an honor to be a guest in your hall, Teyrn Cousland."

"Your Lordship!" Howe remarked, "You didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present." He glanced over at the visitor, who stood stoically. A Grey Warden? Elissa looked to the man in awe. She'd heard tales of them throughout her childhood. They were legendary warriors whose sole purpose was to defeat the Darkspawn during the infamous Blight and to keep their forces in check when their numbers temporarily receded into the depths of the earth. Every noble child grew up wanting to become one. If he was here to battle with them… then this Darkspawn appearance may be an all-out Blight, which hadn't happened in _centuries._

The Teyrn nodded. "I admit it is rare to have the honor of meeting one, but he's just arrived not long ago. I would like you to meet Duncan, Commander of the order of Wardens in Ferelden."

Elissa bowed her head respectfully. "It is an honor, Warden."

"The honor is mine, Your Grace," the Grey Warden replied as he repeated the gesture. He appeared to be around his late forties, with darker skin and a stern gaze that complimented his curt nature.

"Duncan has been out searching for recruits before joining his brethren in the south. I think he has his eyes on our good Ser Gilmore."

"If I may be so bold, Milord," the Warden interjected as he looked toward Elissa, "I would suggest that your daughter is also an excellent candidate for our ranks."

Her father stiffened at Duncan's words, and he seemed to place himself defensively in front of Elissa as he replied sharply, "Yes, that may be an honor, but this _is_ my daughter we're talking about." Elissa inwardly sighed at her father's protectiveness. "I don't see what's so terrible about the idea, papa. I rather like the sound of it."

"You see, Duncan? My daughter has no interest in… wait, what?" He whirled to face her. "You can't be serious, Pup. I would never allow it. I could _never_ entertain the notion; not for you _or _Fergus."

"I don't see why not," she retorted as she crossed her arms.

"Your father's words are wise, Milady," Duncan said, addressing the young would-be warrior. "The decision to join the Wardens is not a light one. It is far from an easy or comfortable life." He looked back to the Teyrn. "I only meant to convey that your daughter is an ideal candidate. We do not accept just anyone; I do not say these things of mere flattery. But while we need as many recruits as possible, I have no intention of forcing the matter."

Her father gave one last lingering look before stepping back into his spot to address his daughter once again. "Pup, I trust that you can be sure all of Duncan's requests are met while you are in charge?"

Elissa nodded. "Of course, father."

"Good," he smiled. "In the meantime, I would like you to find Fergus. He is to go ahead of me to lead the troops to Ostagar."

"Alright. Do you know where he is?"

"In his quarters, no doubt. Spending a few last moments with his wife and son. Please, give them all my regards."

"I will, father. And see you again soon, I hope?"

The Teyrn's gaze softened as he reached over to envelop her in another hug. "I'll be back before you know it, love. Watch over the lands while I'm gone, hmm?" He then lowered his voice so that only she could hear, "I love you, Pup. And go tell your thickheaded brother that I love him as well."

"I love you too, Papa. I'm sure we'll both make you proud."

* * *

"Ah, Lady Elissa. There you are."

Elissa halted before she could run straight into Ser Roland Gilmore, a knight serving in her father's lands. He was tall, with orange-brown hair and a young face, possibly due to a lack of any noticeable facial hair. He also had an accommodating demeanor, and strong views of morality and justice. She had trained with him on previous occasions, and quite enjoyed his company.

"Your mother told me that the Teyrn had requested your presence, so I didn't want to interrupt. Where were you headed?"

"I'm off to see my brother," Elissa explained. "He's been tasked to lead the troops off to Ostagar. I would have stayed longer, but it seemed father had some urgent business to attend to and discuss with his guests. A Grey Warden has arrived, you know."

Roland's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise. "A Grey Warden? Truly? Astounding! What business do they seek here? I wonder if it would be too much to ask if I could meet him…" His eyes took on a faraway look. Elissa shook her head in amusement.

"Geeze, Rory. I know the Wardens are inspiring, but could you look any more like a fanboy in this very moment?"

The knight's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I… is it really that obvious?" His eyes shifted left and right. Elissa grinned and patted his shoulder.

"I'm just making light, Rory. I understand being inducted into the Wardens is something you've been aspiring to for some time now."

"Yes well… It would just be such an honor; something you could only ever dream about," he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean could you imagine me, a Grey Warden?"

"Well I'll let you in on a secret, Roland." Elissa made a show of looking over her shoulder before continuing. "There is reason to believe that the Wardens are looking for recruits." Roland's brows rose even higher. "And it's been possibly confirmed that one of the potentials being sought after include none other than…" Here she paused again.

"Who? Who is it?" the young knight asked. "Someone we know? Who?"

Elissa couldn't help but laugh inwardly at his giddiness. "Well, he's a knight. He's actually served under my father for some time now. It may be that no one deserves the position more than him."

"He sounds quite noble," Gilmore remarked. "Have I met him?"

"You have." Elissa tried her best to look serious. "You know him well, in fact. He wears the same armor and seal that you do." She pointed to his green breastplate.

"He does? How peculiar. What about his features? He doesn't sound too familiar."

"Well, he's definitely a ginger. And he's never worn any facial hair, as far as I've seen. He wields a longsword, if that helps."

"Hey now…" Gilmore exclaimed, suddenly cross. "This bloke sounds an awful lot like me! This isn't some copycat within the ranks, is it? Replicating another man's attributes just to achieve notice." He crossed his arms.

"It _is _you, dummy." Elissa lowered her head in defeat. "Maker."

"Oh…" His eyes suddenly bulged. "_Oh._ It… it is? What? You're sure?"

"Completely," the heiress replied.

"Oh, praise Andraste!" he said with a flourish as he wrung his fists together and pumped them into the air. "This is more than a dream come true!" He quickly bowed in front of Elissa. "Thank you, Milady, thank you!" he said as he took one of her hands and shook it endlessly.

Elissa laughed aloud at this. "Alright, Ser Enthusiast, alright!" she said, pulling her hand free. "There's no need to worship the messenger. I can't imagine how bad it will be once you actually _meet _Duncan." Roland straightened himself and tried his best to return to his calmer demeanor. "Duncan, is it? Ser Duncan." He thought for a second. "I wonder how long they'll be in this meeting. Should I go and approach him afterwards, or would that seem too eager?"

"Ser Knight, I don't think it possible for you to appear any _more _eager than you have already." Elissa chuckled at his blush. "I'm sure the Warden will approach you soon when the time's right. Now then," she said, with a hand on her hip, "What's this mention of my mother sending you after me. Does she need something?"

Ser Roland's eyes lit up with realization.

"Oh. Yes, of course." He straightened his posture. "Your mother wanted me to fetch you once you were done with your father's meeting. Apparently, a certain furry friend of ours has gotten into the storage again… He made a mess of the kitchen and refuses to come out. It's made Nan especially cross, since she can't get any work done. I tried to usher the beast out myself, but he snarled at me as if he wanted to rip my head off." He chuckled slightly, "Nan actually threatened to leave over his wild antics."

Elissa snorted. "Nan won't leave. She's been the cook for years, and both me and Fergus' nursemaid before that. She loves us too much."

"The unrepeatable words she was shouting didn't seem very loving to me, actually. I never knew Nan to be so frightening. We figured you're the only one the dog will listen to when he gets like this, and Nan doesn't want him getting into the meat stores."

Elissa sighed and was about to respond when a sharp pain invaded her temple. She cringed and pressed a hand to her forehead. Roland noticed her distress and attempted to assist her. "One of the headaches, again?" he asked knowingly.

"Looks like it, unfortunately," she grunted in reply. The dull thud that'd been present since her father's meeting hadn't gone away like she'd hoped. As usual, it had to intensify and pester her for Maker-knows how long. She'd been getting these headaches for years now. One of the misfortunes that'd taken to happening ever since her best friend was taken away all those years ago…

"I'll be fine. Let's attend to this kitchen-raiding bind first. It's not too severe at the moment, so I can get something to numb the symptoms later." Roland nodded in understanding before directing with his hands, "To the kitchen then. We should just follow the yelling; won't be a problem with Nan so distraught over this."

"Wonderful," Elissa said dryly and shook her head. "A good amount of yelling will definitely help in this situation."

Once they'd made it to the kitchen, they were directed to the larder by a very exasperated Nan, who demanded that they remove their scruffy scoundrel as soon as possible. There was a castle full of people and soldiers to feed and Maker bless her if she was to put up with that creature's antics a minute longer than necessary. As Nan ushered the kitchen aides away in a huff, the two retrieved the dog, and found that he'd been messing around in the stores for a reason. After outing several rats that Mog had discovered from the larder they reported back to Nan, who reluctantly tossed a scrap of meat to the mabari and immediately shooed them out of the kitchen. With their little side adventure complete, Elissa bid her knight friend good day and headed to her brothers quarters with Mog in tow. Her furry companion barked joyously, satisfied with the reward he received for assisting his mistress and that grumpy cook.

Elissa cringed at the dog's boisterous sounds. "Keep it down some, alright boy? I'm a bit deterred by loud noises at the moment." Mog glanced up at her and whined softly in his throat, seeming to apologize out of understanding. She scratched the top of his head a bit in thanks, and was greeted by yet more people as they turned the corner. Her mother was present and apparently conversing with three other people.

"Oh good, Elissa you're here. I'm glad to have sent Ser Gilmore off to find you." The Teyrna looked down to Elissa's side, spotting the dog. "And it appears you were able to keep a certain scoundrel from completely destroying Nan's previously-tidy kitchen." She ignored the whimper that was heard from the mabari and looked back to her daughter. "I'm glad to have caught you dear," she smiled. "You remember Lady Landra, yes? The Bann Loren's wife?" she gestured towards the woman with graying hair standing beside her, who nodded her head graciously in greeting. Indeed Elissa did remember her. They had made acquaintance at one of her mother's noble-gathering functions. She also remembered the woman being hopelessly drunk.

"Of course. It's very good to see you, Milady."

"You are too kind, my girl," Landra replied. "Oh of course, let me introduce my son, Dairren." She chuckled a bit, "I'm sure I spent half the time at your mother's gathering trying to convince you to marry him." Yes, Elissa remembered that as well; and Landra was drunk during that entire embarrassing conversation, too.

The young nobleman flushed at the mention. "Please," he said bashfully, "Ignore her. I'm sure she's made a very poor case on my behalf, anyways." He looked to Elissa and offered a charming grin. "It is very good to see you again, Milady. You're looking as beautiful as ever." She smiled at his flattery and responded, "Thank you Dairren. You're looking quite handsome yourself." He couldn't help but look away with a clearing of his throat at the returned compliment. Lady Landra continued speaking.

"And this is my lady in waiting," she indicated the young Elven woman standing next to her, "Iona." The girl lowered her head timidly when their eyes met.

"Oh, do say something, dear," Landra encouraged, prompting Iona to meet Elissa's gaze and respond. "It is a pleasure, Milady." She then added coyly, "You are… as beautiful as your mother describes."

The Teyrna interjected with a shake of her head, "Oh yes, she says that after seeing you strike at practice dummies in the courtyard, sweating like a mule." Elissa openly blushed at this, and mumbled a quiet, "Yes well… thank you." Iona then offered her a discreet smile that Elissa thought adorable.

"I think that I'd like to rest a bit now, dear," Lady Landra continued, speaking to the Teyrna. "Dairren, I shall meet you and Iona again at supper, hmm?" Her son nodded and addressed the rest of them, "Perhaps we shall retire to the study for now, then." As the two walked off into the direction of the study, Elissa turned to her mother.

"You haven't happened to see Fergus anywhere, have you?"

Her mother tilted her head a bit before responding, "Ah yes, he's in his room with his wife and your nephew. He'll be leaving soon; you should say your goodbyes with them while you have the chance, dear. Has your father sent you to find him?"

"He has," replied Elissa. "I was going to head for him straightaway, but the mabari spectacle distracted me for a while." She gave Mog a pointed look, causing him to bark sharply in his defense, which didn't help her migraine at all. Her mother noticed the minute twinge, and commented. "Has another painful fit caught you at the wrong time, my dear?" She noted her mother's knowing look, and tried her best to ignore her throbbing temple.

"It'll be fine, mother. I can get something for it after I talk to Fergus."

"Then I'll be sure to send a tonic to the study. You can pick it up there after talking to your brother, and don't dally too long, darling. I know how you get with those headaches. You've had them since you were a child."

"I will, mum. Don't worry."

The Teyrna's gaze softened as she took in her daughter's features, and she couldn't help but remember the time when they first had to start giving the girl medicine periodically for her head pains. It had all started when the Amell child had discovered his abilities years ago. Had her contact with him negatively affected her somehow…? They couldn't know, since no one else had been present at the time, and Elissa had hardly recalled anything from before she had passed out. But she supposed it didn't matter now, as her daughter hadn't seen her friend since then, and would most likely never be able to again. But she moved those thoughts from her mind for the moment, and kissed her precious girl on the cheek before telling her, "All right. Hurry on then; your medicine will be waiting for you in the study."

"Thanks, mum," Elissa smiled, and scuttled off to find her brother, lumbering mabari in tow.


End file.
